The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (18 page)

I reach over my head to grab the other edge of the pool table, securing myself in place as Evan says, “If someone sees us, I won’t stop. I can’t.”

“Good,” I say.

He puts one hand flat on my stomach, looks at it and then slides it up my body. His large hand cups my right breast as his forefinger makes little circles around my nipple. Then he takes it between his finger and thumb like he’s done before, lightly pinching and pulling and it makes me want to come again.

I can feel it, the sensation rising.

Evan is almost there, too.

“Audrey,” he says, drawing my name out.

I don’t know where this comes from but I blurt out, “Come on me.”

He pulls out, yanking the condom off from the bottom, and strokes himself. He comes in long, full, back-arching thrusts, as I watch it landing on my stomach, my chest, some of it hitting my chin. I’m amazed by the range of his orgasm.

He lets go of himself and leans over me, both hands on the table propping him up. He looks at me for a couple of seconds, then says, “I’ve never come as hard as I do with you.”

He kisses me, then looks down at my chest. “We need to get you cleaned up. Stay here.” He leaves the room, around the corner to the hallway. He’s only gone for a minute, two tops, but as I lie there naked, with his come on me, under this light, the fear of being seen returns.

Evan is back quickly with a warm, wet towel. He cleans me thoroughly. I notice his eyes dart to my left side.

“Shit,” he says. “There’s some on the table.”

My head drops back and I laugh. “I don’t care. I really, really don’t care.”

And it’s true. I don’t. At least not right now, as I lie here feeling like I’m high on pleasure.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Evan

I get up the next morning feeling rejuvenated, a lot of energy and a strong positive vibe that today will be a good writing day. I down a glass of water, go for a quick run, come back and cook breakfast—two egg whites, two slices of toast, and a bowl of fruit on the side.

I had hoped Audrey would come by but she texts me and says she’s going home to get some things done and she’ll be by later in the afternoon, after work. She’s had to pick up the day shift in order to get the work schedule back on track.

She texts:
Do you need anything?

Me:
No. Actually, yes. I need you to come by here and spend the day in my bed.

Audrey:
Ha. That’s why I texted and asked instead of dropping by.

Me:
Because you wouldn’t be able to leave?

Audrey:
Exactly.

Me:
After work then?

Audrey:
See you after 5.

When I was walking back to my bungalow from the clubhouse/office, my mind raced with short bursts of memories of what we’d just done.

The look on Audrey’s face when she first saw me. How that look changed when she realized why I was there, and that I had come to fulfill that fantasy of hers. I’d contemplated it all day and had come to the conclusion that it needed to happen that night—not only because the opportunity was there and might not happen again, but because I couldn’t stop thinking about how she would be when living out that fantasy.

There was excitement and worry in her eyes and in her voice. That made it all the more exciting. I had recalled seeing the pool table room when I’d first arrived here at the resort, and knew it would be a good place.

What I hadn’t counted on was just how wildly horny the whole thing would make me. Getting her bottomless and feeling how quickly she got wet under my touch, then getting her completely naked, vulnerable, letting herself go because she trusted me with it…I thought I might come the second she touched me.

I couldn’t get enough of the way she squirmed and moaned and let out those hot little high-pitched yelps as I made her come with my hand.

Then, the way her tits bounced as I fucked her furiously, unable to slow myself down. I had a need to fuck her hard and fast—the way that type of office sex fantasy should be, anyway.

It was an hour later before I was anywhere close to being ready to sleep. I jerked off again after replaying it all in my mind. I had toyed with the idea of going back to the office to find her, but didn’t give in to the temptation.

There’s still plenty of time for more of this, and I have no problem coming up with ways to surprise her again.

. . . . .

After washing the dish and fork I used for breakfast, I open Twitter on my phone to find, once again, more than the usual number of tweets sent to me. They’re all from fans, saying how glad they are that I’m back with the band.

What is this? Must be an Internet rumor. One after another, the tweets are almost all the same.

Awesome news!

Yes! Thank you!

Can’t wait to see you guys again. I’ll be there!

I’m almost squinting because my brow is furrowed as I wonder what these people are talking about. And then I see it as I scroll through the tweets faster.

A headline:
Crawford Returns to Tuesday’s Fault for Benefit Show

I’m about to type up a tweet shooting down the rumor, when I figure I better click the link and read the article in the local Denver newspaper.

There’s no attribution, no direct quote, just a line about how I’ll be onstage for the benefit show. The reporter is wrong, and I wonder where he got the bogus information.

Instead of tweeting and correcting the record, I call Bruce. I know it wasn’t any of the guys in the band, so it must have been him. It’s just before 9 a.m. here and he’s two hours behind, but I don’t care.

He answers on the first ring. “What the fuck, Evan? It’s not even seven here yet.” His voice is groggy. I woke him up. Good.

“That’s why I’m calling,” I say. “I wanted to catch you before you had time to cook up some bullshit way to spin this story about me coming back for the benefit concert.”

He’s silent, but then I hear him groan.

“Bruce, wake up.”

“I am fucking awake. The story…it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Bullshit.”

“No one’s going to read a story in a local paper, anyway.”

I laugh. “The story was posted overnight and I already have over two hundred tweets about it. So you’re wrong. It’s the Internet, Bruce. Shit gets around, you know?”

I hear water running in the background. “Are you coming back for it?”

“I am now. I’d look like a complete dick if I didn’t. That’s why you did it, right? That’s why you fed that reporter the bullshit info?”

He’s silent for a couple of seconds. “I called and texted you a couple of times. You didn’t get back to me. When they were ready to run the story, I had to tell them something, and it had to be good news. It was the best I could think of on such short notice.”

“Then you’re a shitty fucking manager.”

“I love you, too,” he says, sarcasm heavy but the tone is light and then it changes. “Hey, you’ll thank me someday. I’m trying to save this band for you and the guys. Things are going to shit right now, but it’s not too late.”

I get up and pace, deciding to step outside into the warm sunlight. I slip on my shades and go out there and sit on the steps that lead down to the beach.

“So I can tell the guys you’ll be here.”

“Just so you know, I’m not buying this thing about you not being able to come up with something to say without putting me in this position. It’s a dick move, Bruce.”

“If being a dick is what it takes to save Tuesday’s Fault, I’m willing to be that dick.”

. . . . .

As promised, Audrey shows up just after five o’clock. It doesn’t matter that she worked all day after working all night. It doesn’t matter that her hair is a little messed up and her eyelids are heavy. It doesn’t matter that I know she hasn’t showered in twenty-four hours.

No. None of it matters. I still want to pull her into the bungalow, strip her naked, and do things to her until she falls asleep.

But I don’t.

Instead, I take her into the den and tell her what happened this morning, including showing her the news article.

“What an ass,” she says. “Oh, sorry. He’s your friend…”

I shake my head. “He’s really not. And ‘ass’ is too kind a word for him. He’s a conniving fuckweasel, which makes him the perfect manager when he’s on your side, but a complete dick to deal with when he’s not.”

She laughs and falls back onto the couch. It’s one of those deep, hearty laughs.

“What?” I ask.

She’s laughing so hard she can barely get the word out, but then manages: “Fuckweasel?”

I smile, then start laughing myself. Not because the word is all that funny, but because her giggling gasps for air are making me laugh.

Fuck, this girl can relieve my stress in so many ways.

And she won’t stop.

“I think you’re a little delirious,” I say.

“Why?” She still hasn’t sat up.

“Because you’re laughing like someone who hasn’t slept in two days. I’ve been there.”

She coughs and attempts to straighten herself out. “Sorry.”

I lean down to kiss her. “No, I love it. Thank you. I needed that laugh more than you know.”

After telling her more about the phone call and about the benefit itself, she’s no longer laughing.

“Are you going?”

I think about that for a moment, elbow on my knee, hand holding my chin. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really, no. But not showing up now will not be good PR.”

She nods and touches my arm. Her soft fingertips run down to my knee and she places her hand there, lightly touching, caressing. “When do you have to decide?”

I shrug. “Few days, I guess.” I look over at her.

There’s a mask of seriousness covering her face now. One that looks almost like worry. She yawns. “I’m sorry. I’m all over the place here. I can’t get my mind straight.”

“Are you okay to drive home?” I ask, hoping she’ll say no and by some miracle, she’ll end up sleeping here with me tonight. I almost suggest it, but she doesn’t need that kind of pressure.

“I’m fine.” She looks at her phone. “Why does time go by so fast when I’m with you? I’ve already been here for just over an hour.”

I hate it, too, and hate it more when she stands and is holding her keys. I walk her to the door.

“What are you going to do tonight?” I ask.

“It’s my sister’s birthday, so I’m taking her and some friends to the movies. I’m so tired, though. I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Call me if you need me to drive.”

She looks at me, surprised. “So you can meet my little sister and her friends and I’ll have to explain who you are and why you’re driving?”

I tilt my head to the side. She has a point. But I say, “Sure, why not?”

Audrey puts her hand flat on my chest and gives it a pat. “Now you’re sounding delirious.”

She’s gone seconds later and I miss her already.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Audrey

I get home and find Mom dealing with several pre-teen girls who are as excited as ever about being together. I’m exhausted, but I manage to fake the joy along with them for Sophie’s sake. She deserves a fun birthday.

Stacy texts right when we get to the theater.
What the fuck is going on? Something must be happening!

Me:
Sorry. I’ve been so busy. We talked and I think it’s all good.

Her:
Too busy for your best friend? Not a good reason, bitch! Haha. But seriously, thanks for that detailed explanation.

Me:
I’m so tired, I know I’m going to fall asleep during this movie. I promise all the details next time we talk.

Her:
I can’t believe this. My little Audrey is fucking a rock star.

Me:
I’m falling asleep nooowwww…..

Her:
Love ya.

Me:
You too, bitch.

The movie turns out to be more interesting than I thought it would, which is good. It keeps me awake. When it’s over, we wait outside for the parents to come get some of the girls. Kendall is coming home with us to spend the night. We get home and I crash.

When I wake up, it’s just before 1 a.m. I’m exhausted, frustrated that I woke up so soon after going to sleep. I lie there for a few minutes, check my phone and see that I haven’t missed any texts or calls.

The house is quiet, which means Sophie and Kendall have gone to bed or, more likely, fallen asleep downstairs on the couch while watching a show or a movie. I drift off to sleep again.

The next time I wake up, it’s just after four in the morning, and this time I’m wide awake. The hours of deep sleep have done me right. I feel like I can get back on my regular schedule today.

I’m lying here thinking about the last couple of days and, honestly, most of my thoughts are about Evan and the pool table. I don’t know how he could have fulfilled that fantasy any better than he did. This man has me captivated on so many levels, it almost scares me.

I’ve never felt this strongly for anyone this quickly before. Hell, there’s really only one I have to compare this to.

The slower, sweeter falling in love with Wyatt seemed perfect at the time, until I saw that ugly side of him and he wound up confirming my deepest skepticism about men, the deep-set suspicion that was left in my father’s wake as he abandoned us.

I’m not going to let that interfere with my relationship with Evan. Is that what this is? A relationship? It’s obviously something more than just sex at this point, but…shit, I don’t know what to call it.

I also don’t care what we call it, or whether we call it anything. Whatever it is, it’s become something beyond anything I could have imagined I’d be involved in this summer.

Evan said I was his fantasy girl who had become real. I’d never had a fantasy guy, but if anyone came close, it was Evan in those first few days. And now he’s way more than simply a fantasy guy.

These are early morning, waking, rise-out-of-the-fog-of-sleep thoughts. Thoughts that are probably best left unexplored. Just let it happen. Enjoy. See where it goes with him.

The barrage of thoughts are halted by the sound of my ringtone. Who’s calling me just after four in the morning?

Wyatt.

My mind immediately goes to negative assumptions. Something has happened to him, or his family. Or someone we know. There are no good phone calls at this hour.

I answer and he says, “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Well, everything’s wrong, actually.”

I pause, realizing that there’s no real emergency. This is Wyatt in the throes of an extremely early morning breakdown of some kind.

“I love you, Audrey.”

Really? At this hour? He’s calling to talk about us? The us that isn’t us anymore? “I’m sleeping,” I say, and regret lying to him but I think under the circumstances I can justify it.

“Just listen to me.” His voice is strong, urgent. He’s not drunk and he’s not sleepy. He’s wide awake. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me talk.”

I shake my head as I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay.” I stand up, unsure where I’m going. Might as well make some coffee. This could take a while.

And it does. He talks for ten minutes straight, then asks if I’m still awake.

“Yes, Wyatt. Don’t you hear me making coffee?” My tone is testy, impatient.

“Sorry, I’m just making sure.” He picks up where he left off, telling me about Seattle and how it started to feel like home and when that happened, the only thing missing was me.

It dawns on me that Sophie and Kendall didn’t sleep on the couch downstairs after all. I also have a feeling that when I walked down the hallway upstairs, Sophie’s door was open. She always closes it.

Wyatt keeps talking, and I go upstairs to find that her door is closed. I must have imagined it. I turn to go back downstairs, but something makes me turn around and open her door slowly, barely, just enough to see inside.

The room is illuminated in a soft blue, the indirect effect of the streetlight that’s just outside this side of the house. Enough light to see the bed is empty. Enough light to see there’s no one on the floor.

I walk down the hall thinking maybe there’s a chance they were in my mom’s room and slept in there. Stupid idea, but one that comes to me as worry rises inside.

Wyatt is talking and I’ve tuned him out enough to call out Sophie’s name.

“What?” he says.

“Sophie? Kendall?” I’m moving quickly down the hallway, downstairs, looking for I don’t know what. They’re not here. The clock reads 4:57 a.m.

“They’re not here,” I say, my voice loud and frantic.

“What?”

“Sophie and her friend Kendall. They’re gone.”

There’s a slight hesitation before he says, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out harsh, but I had no control over it. My mind is racing with thoughts of the worst outcome for this.

“They’re not on the deck?”

I go to the back door and look out through the glass after turning the light on. “No.”

“I’m coming over,” Wyatt says, and before I can tell him not to, he hangs up.

Running up the stairs to get dressed, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Call the police? Search for them? Call Kendall’s mother? Whatever it is, I need to get some more clothes on before Wyatt gets here. The rational, practical side of me has taken over for a moment.

Wyatt is staying at his mom’s, which isn’t far, and he shows up within a few minutes. He’s calm, and trying to get me to remain calm too. “Let’s ride around the neighborhood for a few minutes.”

We get in his car and he starts talking about how we used to do the same thing.

“Not when we were eleven,” I say.

“We know the spots in this neighborhood. I bet they were staying up all night and ended up going to one of them. It’s what kids in this neighborhood have always done.”

“Not when they’re just turning twelve,” I say again.

Wyatt doesn’t say anything. I know he doesn’t think this is as serious as I think it is, but he’s not arguing with me. He’s letting me win this one.

He reaches over and touches my knee. “I know you’re worried and scared right now, but trust me, we’ll find them.”

I look down at where his hand is and wish he’d move it. It takes him a couple of seconds to put it back on the wheel.

“Does her friend live close enough to walk there?” he asks.

“No.”

“Then they’re not far. Probably at the pool.”

A moment passes in which we don’t say anything. We’re both looking out the window.

Wyatt says, “Or maybe the pond.”

He sounds so sure of himself, and as hopeful that I am that he’s right, I’m freaking out.

We ride around for several minutes. I’m searching every pool of light cast by the streetlights, every front porch that has a light on, anywhere there’s light, I’m looking. And I see nothing.

Wyatt heads down the road that goes to the pool. There’s a gate just wide enough to cover the entrance to the parking lot. It keeps cars out, but there’s nothing to keep out people who are on foot. We get out of the car, go around the gate, and walk toward the pool. It’s surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence.

Wyatt shines a flashlight around the pool deck. I cringe when the light moves across the surface of the pool, fearful of seeing two floating bodies.

There’s nothing to be seen here. Not even the slightest hint of anyone being present.

That is, until we hear laughter. It’s faint, but there’s no mistaking it, and it’s coming from the pond behind the pool.

We hurry over there and when Wyatt shines the flashlight, I see four people—Sophie, Kendall, and two boys. The boys take off running, and I hear the word “cops” but the girls don’t move.

I feel a rush of relief unlike any other I’ve ever felt. I’ve never been that scared. Terrified is a better word for it, but even that’s not strong enough. Now, the sense of dread has lifted entirely, and I’m glad to see her for a few seconds…and then I’m pissed off.

“Sophie,” I say.

I see her stand in the bright light. “Audrey?”

“Uh,
yeah
. What’s going on?”

We’re walking toward them and when we get there, I’m expecting to find something—maybe beer bottles or worse. But there’s nothing. They’re just out here.

“What’s going on?” I ask again, because she’s been silent since I asked the first time.

“Nothing.”

Wyatt is staying quiet, which I expected him to, and I’m glad he’s not getting involved.

“Come on,” I say. “Both of you, let’s go.”

We walk back to the car, Sophie and Kendall walking on either side of me, Wyatt behind us. His flashlight shines all around and in front of us, leading the path forward.

During the short ride home, I turn around to face the backseat. “What the hell, Sophie?”

“Why is he here?” she asks, looking at the back of Wyatt’s head.

“Sophie,” I say sternly.

“What?”

“
What
?” My voice rises, almost shrill from the anger over what she’s done tonight, but also because of what she’s just asked. The last thing I need is for that subject to come up. I get my emotions under control. “You’re old enough to know you don’t leave the house in the middle of the night. Would you have done that if Mom was home?”

She looks out the window, saying nothing. I glance at Kendall, who looks terrified of me. Good. I’m not her mother or her older sister, but if she’s staying at our house while I’m responsible for them, then this is on me and she needs to be scared shitless along with Sophie.

Back at home, I tell the girls to go inside. I get out of the car and lean down to say goodbye to Wyatt, but he turns the car off and gets out.

He comes around to the passenger’s side. I close the door. He looks down at me. “I told you it would be okay.”

I just nod.

“Hey,” he says, putting his hands on my upper arms and giving them a gentle squeeze. “You should try to relax a little before you have to go to work.”

“I will.”

He pulls me to him and hugs me. I return it in a half-hearted way. I’m just eager to get inside and talk to the girls.

Wyatt releases me but keeps his hands on my arms. “Talk later?”

“Sure,” I say. “I…thanks. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

I move around him, saying, “Thanks,” and head for the front door.